


Astriferous Eyes

by ticklishivories



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Barn Sex, Beach Sex, Derse/Prospit au, M/M, Mystery, over romanticized writing, slight fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-05 23:49:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1836634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ticklishivories/pseuds/ticklishivories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jake English is only a boy who grew up behind an embellished golden wall. On a night so beautiful it devastates the soul, Jake's cousin, the future King of Prospit, takes him away on an adventure worlds away from the secure wall he was raised inside. His wonder and fascination of these strange new lands is unmatched. But curiosity is, in great and generous minds, the first passion and the last.</p><p><em>“When he shall die,</em><br/>Take him and cut him out in little stars,<br/>And he will make the face of heaven so fine<br/>That all the world will be in love with night<br/>And pay no worship to the garish sun.”<br/>― William Shakespeare</p><p>art by kay! you can find her at kf1n3.tumblr.com</p>
            </blockquote>





	Astriferous Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not going to lie, while i was writing this i was heavily invested in mary shelley's frankenstein so a lot of the writing is very similar to her style (guilty)
> 
> this is dedicated to fang, my very first friend on tumblr <3 and special thanks to kay who drew the amAZING art for this work!!!! :)

-Letter to Mrs. Hensley, August 28

_My dearly beloved, I am happy to inform you that my expedition across the Atlantic is going fortuitously well. Since I have last spoken with you, I have acquired my own vessel and crew upon which can sail me back home. They are a colorful, unique group of men! Burly, stacked like barrels, and with two gnarled gazes that simultaneously look you in the eye and behind their backs, their aptitude is ceaselessly reliable. I have grown so used to the cosmopolitan refinery of the city that being amongst their musky brutality was a (not quite literal) breath of fresh air. On the water, their strength as men is proven time and time again. Alone each is worth twice the power and oceanic knowledge of the average urbane politician in the states. Never have I heard of such an extraordinary use for lemons!_

_The environs in the east are to die for, Emilia. They fill my heart with such a cool serenity; the Swiss mountains bring a swift wind that braces my nerves with bliss. The castles of Prague recall to mind our heritage that we so often forget to look back on with fearful awe. What stories they tell, what histories lay buried in their catacombs! How I wish I were an artist that I may capture the beauty of these majestic landmarks. I travel with wide eyed eagerness and an open mind._

_The Isles are not as welcoming a land as I thought. The people are harsh and brittle with sick. Thousands crowd together elbow to elbow in one jurisdiction. The poor scrounge with the rats in the sewers, infested with plague, which seems to be an inescapable evil that travels through the air they breathe. The rich live in godly spires that reach for the heavens, spheres away from the death that sweeps through the earth. I was glad to leave that wretched place. The people will sooner be wiped out than see the light of the sun through the smog. I pray for them, and implore that you do as well._

_My hopes are to be home to you by spring, yet I doubt this will come to pass. The winds insist that we sail south, and often times I wake miles off course from whence I went to sleep. This is a dreadful misfortune that we together must prevail; but luckily my men have come prepared with more than enough lemons._

_My voyage has been successful, and I have attained all the necessary records for the transaction. Money is a grotesque and unavoidable evil.  I am rummaging through the documents as I write to you; our family history is saturated with fascinating faces and stories._

_You may not hear from me again for some time. Charter ships are rare to come by in these parts of the sea. I will attempt to surmise the information in these documents to spare you the agony of pouring through them as I am now. Lovely Emilia, I wish you good health and contentment in presence of my absence. Ensure mother and father that I am well. They do tend to fuss over the smallest worries!_

-Yours forevermore, William

 

 

-Letter to Mrs. Hensley, November 3

_All of my remaining spare hours are dedicated to investigating the mind boggling conundrum that is these convoluted documents. The writing is near incomprehensible, and there are large blots in the ink where I am convinced someone has purposely voided information. What they are attempting to hide I am unsure of, but the philosopher in me is determined to unveil the answer. There are boxes full of letters similar in context to what I write to you now- romantic and scandalous in nature, though certainly not the scandalous you'd ever guess in two life times. The story unfolded within has yet to be sorted, but I diligently parse the handful of pieces I can place in hopes of gathering some sort of picture or message. When I am not rifling through these records I am manning the ship and doing everything in my power to fight the tumultuous waters, which seem just as determined to hinder my voyage and prevent me from discovering the truth as these letters. Cold carries briskly down from the North and threatens ice rain in the clouds. I carry on though, and persist in my studies. No act of nature can hinder my expedition. I promise you, soon our family name will be cleared, and our inheritance will be returned to us as it rightfully ought to be._

-In dearest regards, William

 

 

-Letter to Mrs. Hensley, January 15

_Unfortunately there has been little to write for in these past months of voyaging towards the west. The ice is crowding around the ship, and the rain that hails down from the sky is like needling icicles on our raw, sun baked skin. Our lips are black as pitch, and I am desperate with thirst. But I do not mean to worry you. The stars are familiar and are the beacon of light that guides me home. By the time you receive this letter, I should already be happily settled by the fireside with you and our little ones. If not, then I wish for your sake my swift return to your side._

_As I had dreaded, these documents of our family's ancestry are far too invested to surmise in only one letter. You might wish to read them yourself. However in the circumstance that you'd prefer to go about your day rather than sit for hours sifting through entire almanacs of information, I will do my best to write to you of our history, and will not guarantee the extent to which I have romanticized the topic as you fondly recall I tend to do._

_This is the story of our parent's blood, our grandparents, great grandparents, great great-grandparent’s blood, and so on and so forth. It is how we came about our rightful inheritance, and how we have lost it, by no fault of our own. This is the story of the Kingdoms of Prospit, and Derse._

 

 

It might be necessary, first, to delve into the aesthetics upon which the two grand Kingdoms were sprouted from. Prospitian religion is based off the reverence and devotion to Light. There is not one, but two Gods, who reign the heavens and the earth as twin brothers. The Light is the being that guides them to good, and is what they regard to be the center of the universe. For this they worship every hour it graces them with its presence. And there are plenty; days are long and nights are short, even during winter. Their staple of economic production is agriculture, for the land they inhabit is blessed with a river that flows around the cliff upon which the Kingdom is perched. This river is the source that brings prosperity and wealth, as well as conflict, to its people. It channels down in a waterfall, down the cliff’s peak to pool into the ocean that swells powerfully right beneath gold and amber spires- the ocean, which legend says, birthed the first King to seat the throne.

The stories of how Prospit came to be and its indigenous people are simply that; stories, told to children so their dreams may be fantastic and peaceful.

Jake English is a romantic and a dreamer. From the time of his birth, he is raised with these tales while sitting upon his grandmother’s lap inside the royal castle, safe and warm enough to have the luxury to dream as dreamers do. He believes every story told to him, and it’s easy, when one is guarded by legends of warriors and golden sand and soft silken sheets. The world outside is mysterious, and enthralling. It is not uncommon to catch this boy dwelling upon puerile fantasies when he is not occupied by his royal duties. And occupied he is very rarely. He is neither the Prospitian King’s son nor grandson, but his nephew, and cousin to the true inheritor to the throne, Jonathan Egbert. With this vacancy of a legitimate title comes ample free time to wander and explore and learn, along with the future King, who grows with him. The two young boys blossom like petunias in a well groomed garden; cozy, secure, and never having seen a wild flower or drought in their life.

With security comes an innate desire to wander away from the designated line of destiny. The boy’s curiosity grows with each passing day they are made to stay behind their stone walls. And curiosity is a deliciously deadly toxin to have in one’s veins- insatiable, unquenchable, until ultimately fulminating in a sudden and cataclysmic downfall.

Every night before bed, Grandmother Jade comes to tell the boys a bedtime story. Only tonight is different; John has gone to bed early, for he is tired from visiting town with his father all day. He is still very young- three years Jake’s junior. English has his grandmother all to himself tonight. He sits on her lap with reverent interest.

“Oh, grandma, what stories will you tell tonight?” he asks.

“Hm, I’m not sure, there are so many...”

“Please oh please pick one! Any one!” He bounces anxiously on her lap. She makes a remark about how much he has grown when his fidgeting nearly bruises her leg.

 “Alright. I’ve got one.” She smiles. He grins back.

“There was once upon a time where a Kingdom made of gold and diamond rested upon a cliff by the sea.”

Jake’s eyes dance. He knows this story well.

“The sea was so beautiful that the people never took their eyes off it. It glittered and shone, and was a perfect mirror to the dazzling sun. Then, one day, from the foams upon the beach emerged a tall handsome man that outshone the sun itself. His robes were fashioned from the bluest shimmering water, and when he walked it billowed behind him like waves swelling on the shore. His eyes were the same cerulean as the sky, set inside his sockets like jewels in a crown. The people of the Golden Kingdom thought this man so beautiful that they made him King. His reign brought upon many years of joy and happiness for the Kingdom’s people. As long as their King breathed their air, the towers of the castle would gleam like heaven’s gates. However, unbeknownst to the peaceful land, across the river and fields of wheat, was a Dark Kingdom, who through seeing the happiness of their neighbors grew sick and hateful with envy.

“Talk of war spread across the lands. The clash of ore and iron replaced the songs of the birds as weapons were produced throughout the night. But the Golden people were at a disadvantage; they were not warriors, and were not prepared for the bloodlust that rushed towards their grounds like black clouds of rain. They fought valiantly but in vain. In the midst of battle, their King was slain.”

Tears brim the boy’s eyes. As he sniffles and weeps for a man he did not know, his grandmother picks him up and tucks him into bed. His watery eyes glance up at her as she pets his hair back.

“What happens to the people?” Jake asks despite already knowing the answer. She smiles kindly at him.

“Well, upon hearing of the King’s death, the Dark Kingdom rejoiced. They withdrew their forces and returned to their cold, lifeless land. The Golden people were left broken and hollow without their ruler. But what they did not know was that the King had left an heir; a beautiful little boy, who would grow up to be just as handsome as his father. This new King was destined to be raised with love and greatness, and through the years became even more virtuous than the king himself. Because, what no one knew was that before the old King’s departure to battle, he had gifted his son with his gemstone eyes, which were blessed by the God of the sea. And with these eyes, he could see through the evil in the world.”

Jake’s eyes are glowing as his grandmother speaks to him, and if one looked closely, they might think his eyes were made of crystal shards. “What then, grandmother?”

“An era of peace befell the Kingdom of Gold. Their brothers of Darkness did not harm them again, for the incredible power that was the goodness of the King always overcame evil. To this day, we still feel this golden era of peace. For with each generation, the King would pass on his gemstone eyes to his heir, and endow many more years of prosperity to their people.” Grandmother kisses his forehead fleetingly and stands.

“That’s John,” he adds before she can leave.

“Yes. One day, John will inherit the throne, and continue the peace.”

“And he will inherit the King’s eyes?”

Grandmother sits on the edge of Jake’s bed. She thinks for a moment. “Yes, darling. John will inherit the King’s good will and virtue.” She pokes his nose with the tip of her finger.

“So then, I will never be King?”

At this, Grandmother pauses. She looks at Jake for many long moments, as those little emerald eyes gaze back at her. Then she smiles softly. “Why, my dear boy, would you want to be King?” Jake seems confused. “You are but a child. At your age you should want nothing but to play and laugh to your heart’s content.” She stands from the bed, straightening her gown before turning to leave the room. Just before she departs, she adds lastly, “You will always have the freedom to do as you please, Jake, because you will never be King. Be content as you are, and good things will come to you.”

The room reverberates with the sound of the door as it slams shut. Jake turns on his pillow, pushing away the feeling that once again, the story is not complete, and that another secret is being kept hidden away like a dark mystery locked in a dark tower.

 

.

 

Over the mountain, through the forest and across the field of golden wheat stalks, resides Prospit’s dark neighbor, a place of story books that has been whispered to have only seen the light of the moon. Whether this is true remains unproven, however it is known that a hill the size of a volcano shadows the city almost completely from the sun that rises behind it. It is said that if a citizen steps beyond this shadow that ends just beyond the gates of the kingdom, they will burn up and evaporate in the rays of the light. Some have claimed they’ve seen it happen; others say they don’t need to see it to believe it. Enfolded is a map of this mountain, along with the aerial view of the Prospitian Kingdom.

 

Little is known about this Kingdom to the people of Prospit. The dispute between the two is as ancient as the grounds they walk on, however hardly a one knows precisely why. Derse, as it is named, has been fighting for the rights to the Prospitian’s river for as long as it has flowed. Their terrain is not suited for farming, and without a sliver of water to satiate them they are forced to hunt in the mountains; the lands which belong to the wild beasts with heads larger than spinning wheels. Hunting is in their blood, and fighting is taught at a tender age. The Dersians are viewed as feral and mindless killers who lust for blood in ubiquity.

If one were to ask a Prospitian about their neighbor, they would likely cower away, or scowl with the darkest disdain you may ever see a Prospitian wear. For as Dersians are raised hunters, Prospitians are raised lovers, and know that to go to the Dark Kingdom would be a self-imposed death sentence.

There has been peace for generations- a precarious, delicate peace, but balanced. To upset the balance would be disastrous.

.

 

Jake sleeps in his bed quietly. The moon’s light peeks through the distending curtains. His eyes have yet to see eight summers, and the bed and its sheets swallow up his slight, pubescent body. In the room across from his sleeps his cousin, and in the adjacent hallway sleeps his grandmother. The palace is silent.

A loud commotion outside stirs him awake. Noises pierce through the heavy shroud of slumber; distressed, hurried footsteps, the clamor of metal, and the cries of women, all in perplex alarm outside his room. Just as the boy’s eyes open, his grandmother bursts through the door. Her jade eyes are wild and her braided hair is frazzled as if it had caught fire.

“Grandma-!”

Without a word she runs to his bed, scoops him into her arms like featherweight and carries him out the door and down the hallway. She runs so fast his body bounces, and he must wrap his legs tightly around her waist to keep from falling.

“Grandmother, what’s happening!”

“Be quiet child, and do not say another word if you wish to speak again another day.” A boy has never obeyed so perfectly in his life.

Running behind them is Kanaya, the house’s most regarded servant. Her dark skin is frightfully pale. She paces herself at a jog rather than a sprint like grandmother. She is carrying something in her arms.

“John!”

Jake had never seen a human so wrecked with terror.

John is barely more than an infant; the quintessence of what innocence and childhood should be defined as. It is carried painfully true in his soft, sweet cheeks, his button nose and ruddy lips, and his doe eyes, crystal and pure of the unforgiving realities of maturity. But Jake sees nothing of this now. His round blue eyes are blown large, his pupils swallowing up nearly all colorful hues, and his body curls in the servant’s arms like a wounded animal. He is staring at the walls that rush behind their feet as if demons are clawing out and reaching their slimy tendrils towards him. His rose petal cheeks are streaked with tears.

Jake remembers this image for years to come.

Guards, servants, and even the maids scramble in the opposite direction. They give the group little more than a wandering dismayed eye as the boys descend deeper and deeper within the castle. The stairs spiral downwards in perpetuity. Jake doesn’t think he’s ever been in this part of the castle, for even the texture of the stone walls feel unfamiliar. Not a single window is to be found. Light vanishes from the halls like smoke, the air seems to tighten around his throat, and a dark terminal loneliness invades his heart deeply from the shadows. Jake clutches desperately to the back of his grandmother’s dress. She can only hug him closer.

The party reaches a large metal door. Jake is ushered in first, then Kanaya and John. Grandma slams the door behind them and snuffs out the last of the light.

As Kanaya hushes John’s quiet cries, Grandmother holds Jake tightly to her chest. Her body is quaking. Jake’s may be too.

No one says a word. The silence is filled with their ragged breaths, and the thundering of grandmother’s heart against Jake’s ear. He thinks he can hear the pitter of rats scurrying across the floor.

Time passes like mold forming on bread. It is long before his grandmother lifts her head. She does not meet anyone’s eyes as she speaks. “The King and Queen…” she mutters softly; his vision has adjusted well enough to see her haunted stare. “Your Uncle, and, my daughter. They have been murdered.”

The balance tips.

Jake English never forgets the time he spent in that bunker. Seconds dragged on like hours, like candle wax oozing from a flame, like watching winter freeze over the humble lush of autumn. John never ceased his weeping, and Jake’s grandmother never stopped quivering. When the door finally swung open, and the head guard escorted them back up the stairs, his heart was heavy and cold. He was taken back to his room. His grandmother kept by his side through the night.

It was a Derse agent, said the whispers of the servants the next morning. A guard claimed to have witnessed the murderer jump from the King’s bedroom window right after committing the crime. Knives forged of Dersian craftsmanship were found lodged in the chests of the married couple. Blood was splattered everywhere. The maids could not clean the mess through their horrified tears.

John was five years old when he lost both his parents. For days only his closest family was allowed to visit with him. No exceptions were to be made; even beloved Kanaya was barred from entry. Jake made a promise as the blue eyed prince laid in bed as if in his casket. Always will he be there for John when he is needed. Never will either be alone again.

The fury and outrage of the Prospitians was a power so ferocious it spread a cancerous hatred within each heart of the Kingdom. People spoke of war for the first time in centuries. The streets were in chaos, and smoke rose to the sky as blacksmiths and metal shops worked to forge thousands of weapons. The echoing clang of hammer on iron replaced the hymn of prayer and the bells of the church tower.

Though the Prospitian people were ignorant of the Dersian’s Spartan ways, no elite military nation could be prepared for a surprise attack. It was unprecedented and an extraordinary deviance from the docile nature the Prosptians valued for generations. Farmers, cobblers, bakers, and potters stormed the violet castle with their fire and pitch forks. The Dersians could barely blink their eyes open before countless were slaughtered. The massacre lasted for only the night; Prospitian forces retreated once the sun began to rise. By the break of dawn, Derse was ready. War had begun.

Prospit immediately realized that war would inevitably bring their doom. Still this did not quiet their rage. So the royalty, or what was left of it, quickly rushed to a solution for their problem. They created a treaty which stated all relations between the Kingdoms would be severed. There would be no exchange of goods and no sharing of land. All who trespassed in the other’s territory would have reason for suspicion and charged for crimes against the Kingdom. An immediate and unarguable death sentence would be enforced.

The law was passed, and immediately the gates guarding Jake’s home were shut. A fence was constructed at the border between the two territories. It stretched from the rocks at the far west side of the beach to the prairies that sloped into the grassy mountains of Derse. Every thirty meters or so, two guards would stand by the fence back to back, one dressed in yellow and the other in purple. It is impossible to cross this fence without being seen.

That’s at least what they say. But none have tried it.

 

He sleeps in his room on a night much like the one thirteen years ago. The bed does not swallow his body up as it once did. Though much older than he was on that fateful evening, his face still retains that touch of innocence that has several times mistaken him for a boy rather than the man he insists he is. He has tried to grow facial hair, but it looks laughably out of place, so he keeps a clean shave and a bright smile in its stead. However, if one were to only stand outside his room and listen to his snores, they’d mistaken him for a bear and hardly believe its owner was an exceptionally baby faced man.

A hand rouses his shoulder. Jake stubbornly ignores it, and tries to recede back into slumber. The hand does not allow it. He groans and buries his face into his pillow.

“Jake!” a harsh voice whispers in his ear. He recognizes it and open his eyes a crack.

“Dear cousin, I hope for your sake that something dire is transpiring at this moment, otherwise if you’d please let me go back to sleep I’d much appreciate-”

“Shut your yap and get up, we’re going on an adventure.”

John hovers over him, tugging incessantly at his arm and trying to drag him out of bed. Jake grins and slowly drags his body up, his eyes still closed. John groans and tugs harder.

“Enough games! Get up and get dressed, something nice, and lose the yellow. It’s dreadfully cliché.”

He rolls his eyes and obeys his cousin. John may have been only three years younger, but it was always a problem with him if he didn’t get his way as soon as possible. Jake swings his heavy legs over the bed and stands. He makes a show of stretching until John shoves him roughly.

“John, if this is anything like your last ‘adventure’,” he bites, using heavy quotations as he wanders to his wardrobe, “I’m going to abandon you right in the midst of it and go straight back to bed.” The last time John woke him up like this resulted in a huge disaster, and finished with Jake’s best suit soaked in tomato juice and a spanking by the head chef. John valiantly took most of the blame, though punishing the heir to the throne is never an easy feat no matter how cataclysmic his crime.

Jake slips on the (second) best suit he has and admires himself in the full body mirror as he buttons up his polyester emerald vest. He leaves a few buttons open on the undershirt so he can show off the few tufts of chest hair still left. It’s a custom for royalty to wax their bodies, and it’s the number one rule he hates. John is lucky; he has yet to reach the age of excessive body hair. Jake straightens out his collar in the mirror. The trench coat is trimmed with silver and cuffed with real gold. His boots are newly shined, and his trousers fit him snugly. He smirks at himself in the mirror. Any fellow with eyes would agree that he looks dashing.

John stands behind him and folds his arms over his chest. “Stop cooing over yourself. We really need to hurry!”

Jake hardly spares him a glance. He realizes John is wearing his best, too; a fine, blue velvet waist coat matched with ivory trousers. His hair is messy and tousled as always. Jake scolds him.

“If we’re going out looking like this you might as well comb your hair,” Jake says as he reaches for his comb.

He brushes Jake’s hand away. “Not necessary. I don’t want to go as royalty.” John’s eyes twinkle as he pulls out a handful of items from his pockets. They glitter in the bit of moonlight that shines in from the window.

“Masks?” Jake takes them in his hands. His gaze is incredulous as he holds them up to the light. One blue, one green. John then materializes a couple of hats from behind his back. Jake smiles. His cousin has always been fond of parlor tricks. They’re large and boisterous just as the masks are, pink and white feathers sticking out of all ends, and likely meant for a cheap drunkard rather than for a royal. Wearing these with their masks, hardly a sliver of their faces would be seen. The fact that both of them were Prospitian royalty would be impossible to decipher in the darkness of night.

John’s shoes click loudly against the tile as they both sneak their way down the hall and into the common room. The castle is eerie with how quiet and still it is. Shadows linger in the corners where the candles hanging on the wall fail to extend their light. A teeth grating kind of squeaking can be heard, but it is not from the stretching joints of the armor worn by the guards, but by the wooden arches above their heads that settle with the earth. However it’s difficult to focus on the chilling emptiness when John’s feet are causing such a ruckus.

“John, you’ll wake the entire palace with those clunkers of yours!” Jake hisses at him. John suddenly stops in his tracks and they nearly bump into each other.

“Oh, and you’re one to talk. You’re about as graceful as an inebriated elephant.” Jake is poised to snip back with what is likely a brilliantly clever remark, but they’ve come upon an intersection, and John is glancing both ways before he quickly ducks and runs across to stand behind the closest pillar.

Jake may have been giving his cousin a rough time, but having to be quiet and stealthy as they descend through the spooky corridors, risking their hind quarters to have a fleeting taste of adventure, is an exhilaration one cannot experience through merely dreaming about it in bed. They are both grinning ear to ear and repressing their boyish urges to laugh and giggle along as they successfully pass through undetected.

The doors open for them easily. Outside, without the obtrusion of the town’s lights, the stars wink curiously down at them beside the knowing moon. Not a whisper or snore could be heard for miles as the Kingdom slept. They sneak across the bridge and down the marbled staircase, departing without a passing glance from their home.

The Kingdom itself is quite small. Stretching outwards from the castle to the gates are the homes of the Prospitian citizens. In total it is about a two mile walk; as they approach the outer reaches of the city, the shops and homes shift in shape and demeanor. By their castle, one would have to bend their body backwards to see the furthest heights of the homes, but by the wall, the buildings are stout and humble, with a lean to their structure that appears as if they are tilting their heads inquisitively towards them. As if to ask, ‘What are two young royals doing in this part of the Kingdom!’ Jake crouches closely to John and makes sure to speak in hushed tones. His skin crawls with the feeling that he does not belong.

The golden gates that seal the wall surrounding the Kingdom are shut tight. As they loom closer and closer, Jake becomes more and more anxious. The tallest spikes tower towards the sky. It would be impossible to climb over. Two guards stand at its entrance, talking softly to one other. Jake dons his mask and hat, expecting to sneak past them too, but John walks straight up to them without hiding behind his costumes. Jake gawks.

“Hello! May you let us pass?”

Jake thinks he might faint. No one is permitted past the walls at night. Despite being older, Jake stands behind John, his eyes darting between both of the guard’s expressions.

They look the skinny boy over twice. Then their eyes widen, and they bow curtly. “Yes, of course, your liege. But, might we suggest-”

“We don’t need a guard to escort us. We’re only going to the beach!”

Jake’s brow begins to perspire. He had just assumed they’d be going to a sleazy parlor by the wall. Not leave the Kingdom entirely. He hadn’t even known that was possible. But John is telling these two men a clear fallacy, and it makes the skin under Jake’s clothes itch. The adventurer inside persuades him to follow, but his cowardice urges him to stay home.

The guards shout an order, and the gates creak open with a loud earth shuddering groan. John thanks the guards with his brightest smile and Jake follows obediently after him. The gates shut behind them with a heart sinking finality.

All light from the Kingdom is cut off. The night is pure and unhampered by the glow of lamps and the sighs of the sleeping. They can see the ocean, and it shimmers under the reflection of the moon and the stars. It’s breathtaking; though spending time on the beach is permitted by Prospitian law, the rules restricting play are so rigid that it’s simply easier to stay indoors. Jake takes several moments to breathe in the view. The wind is cool and gently caresses his warm cheeks.

John is already following the river down the cliff. In the gaudy clothes they wear it’s a challenge. Jake is far slower and takes much more time to avoid any rips or tears. He stumbles to the bottom, where grass and dirt mix with sand and smooth stone.

“Now all we have to do is retrieve our horses, and then…”

“John!”

He turns to Jake when the emerald eyed boy shouts. Though John is trying to play the part of the stoic leader, his lips remain infuriatingly quirked, like he is perpetually laughing at his own inside joke.

“Jake!” he mimics.

Jake gnashes his teeth. “How long have you been planning this?” he snaps. He’s at his wits end, and gesticulates largely with his hands clenched into fists. “It must have been as early as last night, correct? How on earth did you get _horses_ out here for criminy’s sake? And why were the guards so lackadaisical? No one is allowed outside the walls past sundown!” John is walking backwards so that he faces Jake as he talks, and it ruffles his feathers so much he hopes the future King trips on a rock. “And why do we need horses?” he continues as he follows after John like the oaf he feels he is. “There isn’t a reason to dress like this unless we’re going to a party, and we’ve already left the Kingdom. There’s only one place to go-”

John’s eyes glint knowingly. Jake’s face pales.

“Every year on this date,” John begins, turning his back to Jake as the fields of cool grass pass up to their ankles and the beach vanishes behind them, “the people of Derse celebrate a holiday that lights the Kingdom so brightly, it looks as if it’s set on fire from the mountains.”

Crickets sing their songs from the grass that crunches underneath them. The forest rapidly approaches. The sighs of the rushing waves are still discernable, even from this distance away.

“It’s the most light they see all year. The gates open to the public, and they let the citizens play on the beach during the daytime, and throughout the night. Inside, there’s food, sweets and sugar coated breads and chocolate dipped strawberries. I hear they make the best pork.”

Despite himself, Jake’s stomach growls. He is terrified, unsure, but John seems so confident. “How do you know all this? It’s almost like you’ve been there before.”

The ground begins to slope upwards as they enter the forest. The boys walk close together. Darkness blankets their vision, and the sky is blocked by the trees above. It does not last long; quickly moonlight penetrates through the opening between the thickly packed trunks. In the distance, beyond the wheat stalks, a fence can be seen.

“There’s our horses!” Jake never would have spotted it had it not been pointed out, but just underneath the shading of the trees is a small decrepit stable. The horses’ heads are bowed as they idly chew on grass. They happily raise their heads and swish their tails when they see the boys.

John mounts his steed. Jake reluctantly mounts his. They’ve been saddled ahead of time. Jake does not stop glaring suspiciously over at his cousin as he waits for his question to be answered.

“…I’ve heard stories,” he finally replies, trotting ahead of the other. “Do you recall being stopped by any guards, in the palace, the Kingdom? Asides from the gates?” He looks at Jake. He’s having fun keeping him out of the loop. “And even then, they did not hassle us much at all.”

Jake frowns. John is right, of course. Guards should have been crawling in this area, along the border between the Kingdoms.

“I’m going to be King,” he says with a dash of arrogance so subtle Jake almost misses it, “and as such I must know all that is happening in my Kingdom.”

They run beside each other. With the added speed the fence approaches too quickly. It can’t be more than a hundred yards away. Jake’s heart beats faster and faster the closer is approaches.

“Border patrol was immaculate after my parents died. But people’s care in monitoring the fence began to dwindle. They were more interested in protecting the walls inside than outside.” John nods towards the fence. For a moment it’s far away, then in front of them, then underneath John as his horse leaps over it. Jake skids to a stop just behind. They speak to each other from opposite sides of the world. To Jake, his friend seems miles away. John has never looked so strange.

“Then…funding for security stopped altogether. Years passed; there weren’t any problems. So no one saw the point in keeping the guards.”

In that grassy field where the divide between two Kingdoms has stood for thirteen years, the two boys speak alone and uninterrupted. Not a soul watches over the fence. Silence prevails, and it’s ringing in Jake’s ears, just as loud as the rush of the ocean and the howl of the wind through the trees. He swallows, digs his heels into his horse, until together they hurdle over the fence and land with a thump on the other side. His breath is short as he makes to stand beside John. The blue eyed boy grins brightly.

 They ride towards the peaks of the dark, unknown mountains. Jake does not feel that he lives in his own body anymore; and it is with that strange, distant ache, that he realizes he is in Dersian territory. If he and John are caught, they will be seized and rightfully executed on the spot. It sends a shockwave of fear and adrenaline down his spine. He hates it, and he loves it.

“We’re going to die,” Jake tells John calmly, and he laughs.

“Maybe! But it will be worth it.”

It’s a tall order to pray for their safety. Neither can imagine they will be back in their beds any time soon.

.

The land is beautiful even during the night. Their eyes have adjusted, and the boys that were raised behind a golden wall can see the world that had once been locked away from them. Mountains are painted in the background like a distant portrait, the wheat stalks are tall and unharnessed, and the sky above them seems brighter with strange purples and blues that at home the sun had been too brilliant to reveal. The grass becomes flat and trimmed and gradually declines into level ground. Their clothes whip behind them like colorful ribbons, so Jake must hold his hat down on his head to keep it from flying away.

At length they come upon a glowing orange light on the horizon. For one delirious moment Jake thinks the sun is rising; but John is looking at him expectantly, waiting, and Jake’s eyes widen and a genuine smile blooms on his face for the first time that night.

“Oh, it’s gorgeous!”

It is a mirrored image of Prospit. As if they’ve circled the entire globe, and have come across the same world they grew up in but on its flipped side. The ocean is to their left, and Jake can see people dancing, hear the suggestion of music and laughter and popping firecrackers. To his right is Derse, towering in its full glory and gleaming a conflagrant violet. John looks up, Jake follows his line of sight, and he gasps. In front of them is the infamous hill that at first appears far away but within seconds of galloping is right upon them, fifty meters tall and crowned with the moon as its jewel. And Jake can see how it is placed just so, that it would block the sun like an umbrella over the entire Kingdom, and plunge everyone within into a twilit dusk.

John suggests they leave the horses behind. There is no stable to tie them, so the boys take their horses to a lone wood at the base of the mountain. Jake ties the reigns to a tree and pats the nozzle of his horse. John smiles at him, and he realizes that he is shaking. A hearty hand claps Jake’s back as John chuckles.

“Come now, dear cousin, where has that adventurer extraordinaire spirit gone?” he snickers.

Jake snorts but grins with him. “I’m three years your senior and can say that I’ve had quite a fair share more adventures than you. It’s called life experience!”

John snorts. Three years is truly an insignificant age difference. But Jake likes to remind him about it often.

This time Jake tries to lead the way on foot. The closer they get to the Kingdom, the more people they come across. The partygoers are far too invested in their own merriment and dance in flurries around the two as they smile and greet them back politely with a tinge of youthful awkwardness. Jake considers putting his hat on; it weighs down on his cranium heavily, as if it had swelled with his apprehension in the past hour. Both look ridiculous, Jake consciously running his fingers through the colorful feathers and John prancing about like he’s worn it his whole life. But they serve their purpose. Coupled with the masks, the royals wouldn’t be recognized by their own mothers. Though that meant very little.

The gates are not as tall as Prospit’s and are wrought iron rather than solid gold. They stand wide open and welcome, and masses of people flood in and out of its entryway. No guards are in sight. Jake pushes through with John and tries his hardest not to look anyone in the eye or let his hat slip off. Together they pass through the gates and enter the Kingdom of Derse.

The lights are so bright it might as well be day time. Outside every building a flame burns, small and large. Everything is hot and pulsing with body heat and laughter, the smell of chicken and chocolate and baking desserts, and beef, so much beef that’s been fried and baked and boiled that Jake can’t imagine how any cows on earth are left. He wants to stop at every shop and try every sample, “Holy trousers John everything is free why is everything free such delicious apples should not be free,” but John is not as partial to the food as Jake, who has to be dragged by the arms to get him away from the women and their tempting sweets. Jake is effectively lured by every trinket, every cheap parlor trick, and the people, whose eyes seem to view the world through an astriferous kaleidoscope.

The Dersian people are vastly different from Prospitians. Jake, who had very rarely left the protection of his castle, still held a caramel complexion to his skin that was a common trait of nearly all Prospitians. Slaving away under the sun for centuries provided their natural dark skin and hair color, and bulky stature from the lack of sufficient protein. The river and the land that surrounds them give softness to their features from understanding and being at peace with nature. They live a back breaking, yet full life.

But these people tell a new story to Jake that he is not familiar with. Their skin is pale like the fog of dusk, with hair as white as the moon and golden as the sun. Their heights tower over the boys which even the girls seem to have an upper hand in. Each has cutting, defined cheek bones, and eyes; closer together than what Jake considers conventional, like a predator’s, like a lions, and whenever he accidentally makes eye contact he feels like a deer caught in a wolf’s hunting sights. He pulls his hat in front of his eyes as he shies away. If John had not swatted his hand away he would have put his mask on too. Despite his adventure extraordinaire boastings, Jake is naturally soft at heart and despairingly bashful.

“Where are all the guards?” he asks John. In one hand he has a stick of ice cream, coated in caramel and sprinkled with ground up walnuts, and in the other is John’s hand, pulling him through the crowd because he gave up trying to lead.

“Probably partying, too.” A pretty blond lady with short curls catches John’s eye, and instead of shying away like Jake had, he smiles at her, and she nearly swoons on the spot. Jake damns his nerdy charm to hell.

Throughout their walk through the shops John buys several accessories. He says it is to help with their disguises, but Jake knows it’s because he likes them. The first purchase of many are two pairs of leather gloves, blue and green of course, that are bejeweled with fake diamonds along the stitches. They’re cheap but John insists they’re perfect for further masking their skin color. Then there are the clip on ear pieces, which he shares none of with Jake, and the body paint shop that he immediately rushes past saying there were places to be, things to do, sights to see. Jake delights in urging him to get one.

“Don’t be silly! What on earth could we possibly do besides this?” He licks at the sticky ice cream on his hand that’s melting away. “We’ve already trespassed into enemy territory, taken from their goods and resources, and you still crave more?”

John elbows him roughly for speaking out loud about such things. He’s taking Jake to the center of the Kingdom towards the castle. It’s where all of the brightest light is burning. At first he thinks there’s a bonfire because people are screaming, but as they get closer he realizes it’s an enormous tent, beaming so hot and white he has to squint his eyes to look at it. If he had not seen the castle looming right behind it, he would have thought the tent was the castle. John is grinning again.

“This is it.”

Music pours out from all directions. It’s booming, boisterous, so much so that he can barely hear his own thoughts over the cadence of the fiddle and viola. There’s a thousand people clapping and stomping to the beat along with a few drunken singers, and he is swept inside the white tent and into a spinning circle of dancing people. He yelps loudly as the ocean of dancers steals him away from the only person he knows. There are so many woman, he hadn’t known this many women existed in the world, and they’re all so lovely and tall and luxurious. Some try to dance with the emerald eyed boy, and he’d smile like he saw John did before and they eat it all up. John points and laughs, waving him off. The crowd is suffocating, pushing and pulling in all directions, and it’s overwhelming and powerful. They’re having so much fun, their faces are radiating joy, it’s contagious, and John is laughing and Jake can’t help his own grin and the laughter that bubbles up deep from his chest. They’re wearing their masks too, so he slips his on and he feels like he belongs.

Someone joins hands with him to his left and to his right. He clears his head to see that everyone is linking hands like this. A spiral is formed, and they begin to dance on the outermost circle, deliriously spinning closer and closer to the center. Jake beams and waves at the faces as he passes them. His hat threatens to fall off and his hair sticks to his forehead with perspiration but he does not care a wink. His feet twist and twirl as they strain to keep up with the frenzied pace of the dance. The music gains in speed, thundering to its vivacious climax, and every three beats people clap and though he’s horrid with rhythm he’s trying and he’s having fun, letting loose for the first time, and it feels so free his cheeks hurt with how widely he smiles.

The music builds and builds until it explodes into one final, resolute note, like a firework bursting into the sky. Everyone simultaneously stops dancing to cheer and Jake nearly falls over with how abruptly they halt. He turns towards wherever the source of the music is and claps enthusiastically along with the crowd as they hoot and holler.

Jake finds himself at the center of the tent, disheveled and disoriented. People are pressing him in, and he can’t imagine how so many were able to coordinate themselves into such an elaborate dance. They’re starting to break off into pairs. Briefly Jake panics. He is alone, with John nowhere in sight. It is not that he is worried for John’s safety, as he ought to have been; he is worried for himself.

He doesn’t realize that he’s still holding hands with his dancing partners until one hand slips away, and the other stays entwined with his own. The music eases into a more effervescent pace that is not as crazed as the river dance but still lively and bubbling. It’s fast, it’s moving, and people are stepping in learned movements that he does not recognize. Jake is once again being pulled away by the crowd and by his partner.

A hand places itself on his waist. He looks at it, baffled, then looks up. A masked man a good head taller than him is leading the dance. His gaze is fixated on a spot just above Jake’s head.

“Excuse me-”

“Quiet, if you please.”

The royal’s jaw drops. He’s never been addressed in such a way.

“I beg your pardon-!”

“Shh, I beg of you, be silent.” He pauses, glancing down. “And smile.”

It is not his words that silence Jake, but the man’s gaze; hard, austere, and perspicacious. He swallows thickly and quiets.

From his peripheral vision the boy can watch the crowd that surrounds them. It’s difficult to directly stare at any one person in the audience with all of their glittering garments and jewels, but he sees that they’re all formed in a circle to watch him dance with this strange person. It causes Jake’s heart to falter along with his feet. The man guiding the dance hisses. Jake quickly apologizes and looks down. Otherwise, his face remains placid; yet the hand that’s raised in the emerald eyed royal’s clenches tightly.

The poor boy is so nervous he’s afraid to directly meet the eyes of his partner. It is impossible trying to read what they’re thinking behind the mask- cheap, gratuitously bedazzled and glittered like all the others, and orange. Rich, sunset orange, and perfectly matched with his orange coat trimmed with gold. He has fair hair, from what Jake can spot underneath the gregarious hat, and fair skin. Yet it fails to catch the glow of the light like everyone else. To another, he’d seem calm, at ease; but the way he’s gripping Jake’s waist tells otherwise.

His chest tightens with the urge to abscond. He wants to tear away from the stranger’s hold, find John, and ride the hell out of there. They’ve had their laughs, now it’s time to go home. But his feet are metaphorically stuck to the ground. The crowd watches with a hungry delight that makes Jake shiver. The man spins them in circles, trying to guide the dance forcefully since Jake is now completely uncooperative. But the more he pushes the more Jake resists.

The man is still scanning the crowd. As he is distracted, Jake tries to get a glimpse of what he’s looking at. He turns his head, slowly, but manages only a quick glance before the man has grabbed his jaw and turned his head back to lock gazes. Jake has earned his full attention, and the eyes that bore into his soft emeralds are on fire. He shrinks underneath them.

“Look at me.”

And then his grip is softening, his hold is gentle, and he’s leaning into Jake, his head tilted ever so slightly to the side. There’s only one place to go, there’s such little space between them, and his heart is beating like a humming bird’s wings, and…his face is closing in. The boy is going to faint, surely he can’t stand a moment longer. He’s been dancing for who knows how long and the hand sliding to his lower back makes his knees feel weak. He forgets the crowd, and he forgets who exactly is holding him. But Jake is wrong. The man’s lips are dangerously close, but don’t get close enough. His cheek glances across Jake’s as he whispers lowly into the shorter boy’s ear.

“Whoever you are, now is not the time to feel starry eyed. We’re being watched.” He leans away, searching Jake’s face for a reaction.

Jake flushes upon remembering the crowd. Yet something about the man’s disposition says that he was not referring to their literal audience. Now Jake is twice as curious to turn around and look. But his hand keeps firmly gripped to Jake’s jaw. Their eyes remain locked together.

His voice is a quiet rumble that seems to reverberate through Jake’s bones. Somehow, they dance on. “Congratulations. You’ve been selected for the main event of the festival.”

Jake gapes. Several seconds go by. “But...” He blinks away his panic and thinks to John. “My cousin is here. I cannot leave him.”

The Dersian frowns. It makes the hairs behind Jake’s neck stand. “I don’t understand. If you did not want to join why did you come to dance? You must know the consequences of refusing participation.”

His mouth dries. For a moment, a very long, blissfully sweet moment, Jake had forgotten he was in enemy lands. His skin begins to glow with sweat; if it weren’t for his mask, it would have been fatally obvious how anxious he was.

“I...well, yes, of course...”

“Right. We’ll finish our dance, and then I’ll meet you in front of the stadium. Now, smile. Our audience is watching.”

For the remainder of the dance, the Prospitian cannot muster a single sincere smile. The Dersian attempts to calm him with words but everything that the stranger says further isolates and frightens him. Even the essence of the blond man’s voice is foreign, the lilts and fluctuations a saddening deviation from the homely lisps he is used to. His dancing is as graceful as a drunken donkey. Every other step they take he manages to step on his partner’s feet.

“Sorry, I’m sorry...”

Again, the man requests Jake to look at him. But when he lifts the boy’s chin up with his thumb, his burning eyes are gentler, and pleading. “It’s fine. What’s your name?”

He has no choice. “Jake.”

“Jake.” His name rolls of the Dersian’s tongue like water, like steam. The man’s hand pulls him closer by the waist. The other slips away from Jake’s chin to once again clasp his hand. They’ve stopped dancing in favor of swaying lightly with the music. People are less interested in watching. Some are leaving, others are partnering up themselves. “Jake, can you do me a favor?”

He waits with bated breath.          

“...You must find me again when the performance is over. Shh, be calm,” he asks when Jake begins to fidget uncomfortably. They cease dancing altogether, and the blond grasps Jake’s shoulders to keep him still. Fierce, orange eyes stare through his frightened emerald stones. “I fear that something strange is in the air tonight. If I am mistaken, and I pray that I am, then you will be fine. But if not then it is imperative that you find me after the performance. Do you understand, Jake?”

Jake stares back unblinkingly. He did not understand a single bit. What performance was this man talking about? And why was he choosing Jake to protect? The stranger waits for an answer without uttering a word. Jake takes his time before nodding slowly. A small satisfied grin quirks on the man’s lips. His hands begin to slip away from Jake’s body.

“Ah-”

Jake tightens his hold on the Dersian’s hand. The man stops before he can leave and turns back to Jake.

“What is your name?” Their interlocked hands burn hot between them. Jake breathes heavily as he waits.

Then surprise etches hard and evident behind the stranger’s glittering mask. His brows furrow. “You don’t know?”

Jake’s heart plummets into his stomach. He should know his name. The shock and confusion is all Jake needs to know about the stranger’s potential status. This man is well known. Jake's disguise is ruined. Before another word can be uttered he slips his hand away and turns to run out of the tent, all the while begging for John to be alright and for their safe and uneventful journey home.

But the crowd that swells and scrambles around him when he reemerges from the stifling tent is an even more obfuscating mess of confusion and strange faces that each seem to stare at Jake as if he is an alien. In his panic he forgets courtesy and shoves through the women and the men to get away, to find John, but in vain. The laughter and the enjoyment blur together and he cannot see. If any fellow were to care to take a passing glance at him, they would notice that his complexion well matched the tinge of his eyes in a sickening couple. His bones feel like milk and his skin feels like melted wax.

Hands grip his shoulders and keep him steady. Jake opens his eyes, which appear to have dulled in their weariness. But light quickly returns to them upon seeing the familiar face.

“John...!” He’s never been so happy to see his cousin.

“Jake, what on earth is wrong with you?”

Jake stands on his own feet, steadying himself on John’s shoulders. His skin is dank and pale. John frowns with concern. “We must leave, we must get out of this place.” He holds tight to his dear friend, pleading with the weakness in his emerald eyes. “Something is happening, we may be in danger...”

John continues to hold his cousin up to keep him from collapsing. Seeing his lifelong friend so sickened worried him deeply. “Jake, did you eat something rotten?”

“N-No, I...”

“How is this? We’ll leave after the main event. It’d look suspicious if we left right before the night concluded.”

Jake’s eyes widen a fraction. “No-” But John is smiling kindly, void of panic or worry, as if the boy understands, as if the only problem is Jake’s upset stomach, that there is nothing else to be concerned about. Before he can get in another word there is an elated scream from behind them that jump starts Jake’s nerves. John lets go to follow the sound, urging Jake to come after him. It seems as if everyone from the festival is gathering towards the castle. People push past Jake in their eagerness. Their smiles are the masks of cheap fabric and jewels. It makes him nauseous.

They swarm behind the massive tent. Jake hadn’t noticed before, but there is an open stage just in front of the palace that curves next to the tent, elevated and large enough for everyone in the back of the audience to see, but small enough to be transported and to only fit about five actors at once. Jake has already lost sight of John again. However he does not let himself panic. He is forced to the front of the crowd, blending amongst the whispers and the alcohol and the secrets. They shift and push until one and all settle. Every eye unanimously looks up to the center.

Jake’s heart capsizes when a familiar blond man enters the stage. He wields a wooden sword in his left hand and a golden crown in his right, which even from the ground is a clear fake. All except one lean forward as the man begins to speak. Hush overcomes their eager hearts.

“You may have come here tonight to be entertained- to feast your starving eyes on the theatrics of drama, romance, and tragedy.” His bodacious hat has been removed, but he keeps his orange mask. Jake hates it with burning passion. “Tonight we have something planned for you that is unprecedented; a new look upon the story that you are all so familiar with. Tonight, as per tradition, will commence the thirteenth year of the annual Festival of Thieves. And as I have done for the past thirteen years, I will participate in the performance myself, and choose a _random_ member of the audience upon which will be my companion.”

People snicker at the accentuation of the word random, as if it was not, as if it was a known factor that it was not. Jake stiffens as the man’s steely eyes scan the crowd. Both men and women jump high and flail their bodies to be seen. Then his orange gaze rests on Jake. Something hard flashes in his glare, something that makes Jake cower back, until a falsified smile replaces the harsh undertones.

“You there, in the front with the green mask. Come forth; you have been chosen.”

All eyes turn to the trembling boy at the front. He stares, void of breath, up at the man that to Jake is the harbinger of evil. Not a whisper carries through the air. His nerves are a tangible force that he must fight as he walks around to the stage. Trepidation throbs in his head like thick aching blood. The watching audience is silent as Jake ascends the steps and enters onto the stage. But he moves very little, and chooses to stay in a corner. Teasingly, the Dersian beckons him forward. The crowd jeers playfully as Jake hesitates. Cautiously, he joins the blond man’s side.

Jake flinches when a hand places itself on his shoulder. The Dersian smiles. His teeth are brilliantly white. To Jake, the smile is unsettling. Out of place. “You all know of our tradition. I danced with this man, and knew by the gleam in his gemstone eyes that he’d be the perfect fit for our empty part this evening. And though it is through luck that I have danced with him I know there is none more perfect for the role of our ‘King.’ I am delighted to present to you, Jake, as the ‘King of Prospit,’ and I, Dirk, your Prince, as the ‘King of Derse.’ Enjoy.”

Cheers erupt across the audience. Jake watches with blank horror. He had danced with the Prince of Derse. He really did ruin John’s and his chances for escape. After removing Jake’s colorful hat the Prince places the fake crown upon his head. The other hat is tossed carelessly into the crowd. Jake wishes he hadn’t done that.

Simultaneously, all the candles around the stage are blown out. People dressed in black move quickly within and around the crowd, like demon shadows snuffing out all light and hope in the world. Jake gasps and thinks to call out to John once the only light that is left is the moon. But the whispers of the crowd are of excitement, not fear, yet do little to assuage the nervous tremor of Jake’s heart. In the disorientation of absolute darkness, someone brushes against Jake’s elbow. He attempts to look but can see nothing except the glow of two narrow, amber eyes. He is ordered in a low tone to keep still. What Jake did not know was that another step forward would have found the ground vanishing from under his feet.

A light flares to life at the front center of the stage. It illuminates a dark, arcane man, whose drastic and haunting features leave a hollowed innervation of fear and exhilaration. Everyone reels back with a shriek. He is the narrator of the play, and holds in his hands a scroll. The entire world dims their voices and strains their ears to listen.

 “There was once upon a time, where a Kingdom made of stars and amethyst dwelled upon a sea underneath the moon.”

Jake’s eyes widen. He knew this story, and yet, he did not know it at all.

"The people of this Starry Kingdom knew the land like it was their kin. With their knowledge they hunted the plains and the mountains, but even that was not enough to satiate their people from starvation. The King desperately sought ways to save his people. He paced about the castle like a deranged madman, stopping at nothing to find his answer.”

As the story unfolds the stage around Jake comes to life. No actor utters a word, but obediently they follow the direction of the narrator. Dirk, the ‘King of Derse,’ paces quickly back and forth about the stage as he mutters nonsense to himself. Jake stands in the shadows, timidly waiting instruction, a puppet without a master.

“It was when he was walking the Cimmerian Beach that he saw something remarkable; their neighboring Kingdom, gyrating upon their riches with fat bellies and ruddy cheeks.” The stage is swept with strangers dressed in cheap gold ribbons and glittering silver hats. They join Jake in dance, and reluctantly, he dances with them. “They prospered while the Starry Kingdom suffered. While women and children were dying, this Golden Kingdom engorged themselves on the finest cutlery the land had to offer and left their neighboring brothers to wither away. The King immediately took action.”

The blond Prince moves to join with several other actors, who envelop him in a dark cloak. He crouches across the stage, looking out at the audience with suspicious caution. The actors around Jake disperse and leave him, laying down a matt and discreetly gesturing for Jake to lay on it. “In the cover of night, he snuck into the Prosperous King’s palace to observe the source of their fortune. He found something extraordinary; lying inside the sockets of the fat man rested two glittering gemstone eyes, which no doubt would give the King all the wisdom he needed to know how to feed his people. He took the eyes and fled in the night with his prize.”

Jake gazes up at the stars as he ‘sleeps’ on the matt. He fleetingly wishes he could lie there forever. Suddenly blocking his vision is two piercing eyes staring down at him. Jake watches the movement of his lips as they form around the words, ‘Be aware.’ He did not have time to dwell upon the meaning of those words. He is made to stand, and hides in the shadows once again.

“The eyes did give him wisdom to prosper. Within days his people were happier and glowing with well-rounded bellies. But the Prosperous Kingdom was enraged, and declared war. In the midst of battle, the eyes were taken again, and our beloved King was slain.”

Children within the crowd cry out with dismay. Jake is given a wooden sword and does not have to be told what to do. He pushes the sword between Dirk’s arm, the blond chokes and gasps, and finally collapses in a dramatic, silent heap to the ground. Jake manages a chuckle. The Dersian peeks up at him through one eye and smiles, so brief and soft that Jake thinks he is mistaken.

“Still there was hope for the Starry Kingdom. Even without the aid of the eyes, they managed to overcome their hardships, and not only succeed but prosper." Jake offers a hand that Dirk accepts. He stands, and they look at each other for several long moments. "Their children became master swordsmen and hunters, and in the face of their neighbors the Gold Kingdom was nothing. Centuries passed, and it was believed that the eyes were lost. But a new ruler of the Starry Kingdom knew wiser. He stormed the castle of the Prosperous Kingdom thirteen years ago, slayed the Prospitian King, and took back what was rightfully ours. Now, _we_ are truly prosperous. Now, we have won, and the gemstone eyes will forevermore belong to the Derse kingdom!”

The crowd erupts into uproarious cheers. But the Prospitian hears none of it. He is overcome by a violent flashback to another time, another night, full of fear and darkness and waiting. Shock overcomes his entirety. He does not notice Dirk being pushed aside. He does not notice a cloaked figure unsheathe a glinting metal sword and point it at his breast. Jake notices nothing until the sword is penetrating through his chest and he comes crashing down to earth. His vision comes into sharp focus for three, straining seconds. Cold soaks through his skin. He breathes in slowly, and out, then looks down. Blood stains the surface of his vest. His trembling fingers touch it. In a hard, crashing rush, he feels everything. The screams of the crowd are like cracks of thunder inside his head, the cold breeze of night is a suffocating palpitation against his throat, and his chest- it’s as if he is being clubbed repeatedly and unceasingly, and he feels himself going down, the slow motion of the world tilting on its side a surreal reality. Jake English collapses, desperately clutching to the wound as it oozes hot blood onto the stage.

His eyes close, and one by one the stars wink out into nonexistence.

**Author's Note:**

> this is part one of two! sorry that I didn't set it as multichap my Internet is very fickle
> 
> you can find me at ticklishivories.tumblr.com :)
> 
> also thank you to harvey for putting up with my whining throughout writing this <3


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